Austria 1945

Gellert never believed himself evil. Evil was such a simple word. Used to paint the world in broad strokes; it never ceased to amaze him that people couldn't see past the whites and blacks of the world to the gray beneath. Nothing was ever so simple as "light" or "dark" in this world. He knew of course that he had done plenty of "evil" things, but what he did he did for the greater good. For a sense of more than himself. He did what others would not, could not, bring themselves to do, and he did it to save the world he loved so much. Magic was a wondrous thing. Sickness could be unmade, death could be delayed, and miracles could be made little more than a wave of a stick. How he wished it was a gift that all could have, but that just wasn't the way of life was it. There would be always be those that had, and those that had not. Gellert knew he had done wrongs in his life. So many things had not gone as he had hoped or planned, but that did not make him an evil man. The world was unjust and he had decided long ago to do what it took to right the world. Evil men destroyed. What Gellert hoped to achieve, was to create. He WOULD create a world where all of wizard-kind could step out of its own shadow and be free. Either with or without the non-magic's of the world.

Gellert Grindelwald sat in his study atop the castle fortress of Nurmengard. A castle he had taken by force, and had enchanted every inch of its walls and wards himself over the last twenty or so years. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay here long. Not with the entirety of the International Confederation of Wizards closing in on his location. Gellert knew his wards would hold for a while, but he was not so arrogant as to believe they could not be breached. No, Gellert had not survived this long by underestimating opponents and making stupid decisions. It didn't take long to have his study packed into his trunk. He took only those which he dared not risk falling into any others hands. Some books, his potion stores, his pensive, and his chest of artifacts were all lifted and placed into his trunk. He knew he would not be returning here for the foreseeable future.

Gathering himself to his full height, he looked around once more to ensure he had not left anything behind. He drew his wand. It felt strange in his hand again. For so long he had used another wand. A wand believed to be unbeatable, and a wand he had left behind in defeat knowing it would no longer acknowledge him as its master. He looked down at the wand he hadn't used since his expulsion from Durmstrung for his necromancy experiment. Twelve inches of Hawthorne, wound around the heart of a sphinx. A wand he found himself having sorely missed now that he no longer had the accursed Death Stick in hand. In appearance it looked as if he had merely plucked a stick from the branch of a winding twisting tree, but any who had known him knew that this wand was something to behold. A one of a kind the likes of which Gregorovich's father had never attempted to recreate.

With a wave of his wand he finished his preparations prepared to depart, and then he saw it. His reflection looking back at him. His hetero-chromatic eyes looking back at him. It was often said he had gotten his white ringed eye through some forbidden ritual or dark magic. Truth was he was born that way. Marked by magic from his birth. Destined for greatness, to make a difference in this world. His eye was not what halted his departure however. It was his hand. Or rather, his distinct lack of a right hand. Gone from the middle of his forearm down. A loss he had been forced to endure in order to survive his loss to Albus, but one that would not hold him back. Yet a part of him knew things would not be the same for him. He wouldn't be the warrior he had once been. Magic would never flow as freely through his left as it had his wand hand. He would overcome. He had to; the world needed him to be stronger, to achieve the perfect world for wizards. With that final thought Gellert thought about his safe house in France, and spun on the spot compressing himself down into nothing and apperating away.

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England 1991

In a rather small and unassuming house located in 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, a family was just sitting down for dinner. This family was just as normal as any other family you might come across on the street; a fact they very much took pride in. The mother was a tall woman with a rather long face and a longer neck, and shoulder length black hair curled up into a bun atop her head. Across from her was possibly the largest man in the county. The only thing more impressive than his sizable girth was his rather large mustache. It seemed very much to the average passerby that the mustache must have been recruiting hair from his rapidly balding head, populated by very thin and short salt and pepper hair. In between the two sat a boy at the head of the table. A rather large boy who seemed as if he wanted to surpass his father's girth one day. A feat he seemed like he would very much accomplish, judging by the second plate of eggs bacon and pancakes beside the first and the 4 glasses of orange juice he had drunk already. Yes together they were quite the happy little family, Petunia, Vernon, And Dudley Dursley all sat around the table enjoying their own company and food, all while trying to forget about IT.

It was perhaps too ominous a noun for a family to use to describe a ten, almost eleven year old boy. This boy sat in the cupboard below the stairs on a bed that was really not made for a boy to be sleeping on, but rather a large dog. Beside his bed was a small chest he had found while cleaning and decided that he could find a use for, and inside that chest were the boy's only possessions, possessions that meant more to him then nearly anything else he owned, except maybe his glasses. Some might be shocked if they were told to look into a chest of ten year old greatest treasures, and find themselves looking at a pile of books. The boy loved his books as they were the only thing he was allowed that that absolute whale of a cousin of his wouldn't be interested in. Vernon didn't care because if the boy was reading he couldn't spread any of his freakishness around the house. He secretly suspected that his aunt was the one buying him some of the more interesting books in his collection. He had some books about fantasy and children's stories, as well as books about meditation, books on exercise, math and puzzles, philosophy, religion, etiquette, history and even a book about strange places around the world. He had gotten each book on his birthdays going back as far as he could remember. He had suspected his aunt was getting them for him, yet she always denied it. He had learned not to bring it up anymore as Uncle Vernon would club him in the head for asking questions and had threatened to take them if he ever asked again. He also helped himself to any of the books that Dudley received since he knew they would be wasted on him.

It was normal afternoon in Surrey, and much like any other the boy sat under the stairs reading while his fami- No. he told himself. Not his family, they made sure he was aware of that fact. His family was dead, and they were just sheltering him until he was old enough to work and get out of their home. Banging on the door to his cupboard pulled him from his thoughts, and before he had much of a chance to react large meaty hands were pulling him to his feet.

"Get up boy, table needs cleaning and fetch the mail" came the warbling voice of his manatee-esq uncle. The boy said nothing as he left the confines of his hideaway and began gathering the dishes and cleaning the table.

Out in the light of the dining room it was easier to see the boy wearing cloths much too big for any ten year old, a shirt that the neck of nearly fell past his shoulder, a pair of trousers held up with a belt that encircled him twice and was still loosely closed on the first hole, pants legs that seemed to have had nearly 6 inches of rolled up hem along the bottom, to a pair of trainers that he could see one of his sock covered toes through. It didn't help at all that he was much thinner and slightly shorter than the other boys his age. Atop all of that, sat a mop of extremely unruly black hair and just below them a pair of very bright green eyes. Eyes that seemed sharp, to pierce your very being, to see thorough you. Or so that's what his school teachers said. He rather thought he had normal looking eyes.

As he finished cleaning the table and dishes, having helped himself to a few pieces of bacon without being seem, he headed over to collect the mail. He had just picked up the pile when he saw the most curious thing. A letter. Addressed to him. How peculiar? He didn't even know anyone who would care to write to him? He didn't have longer to ponder his letter before it was snatched from him.

"Dad! Dad! Look what the freak has got!" Screamed his rather porcine looking cousin

"What in the heavens are you screaming about my little Duddykins?" His aunt called from the kitchen, her eyes finding a rather distraught looking Vernon looking down at en envelope. As Vernon's eyes looked around the room and found his nephew he gave him a look of rage and disgust. "No! Absolutely none of this freakishness in this house, I'll not stand for it!"

Needless to say the boy was confused

"Uncle I'm not sure what you mean, but can I have my letter please?" this proved to be a rather foolish request as with speed that was honestly rather surprising, his uncle had moved across the room and thrown his letter into the fire! If he was being honest with himself he wasn't very surprised something like this had happened, they always found some way to ruin his day one way or another.

He was again pulled from his thoughts by his aunt's shrill voice being directed at him. "Get out! Get out now". And so he went out to the garden in the front and decided to keep himself busy. What a strange reaction to have to a letter? There were a few things he just didn't get about the whole exchange. Who wrote him a letter? Why? Why were his guardians seemingly offended by the letter without even seeing its contents? And what in the world was a Hogwarts? He had seen the logo clearly enough, the badger, lion, eagle, and snake, but what did all that mean?

As he sat there behind his aunts rose bush, he heard a sound almost like a car honking. He looked up and found himself looking at a rather large black bird. For a moment he simply stared at the majestic looking bird, a bird he assumed was either a raven or a crow? A bird that was starting to creep him out with its intent gaze. Maybe he'd be better off sneaking back in and hiding under back in his cupboard with his books before the bloody thing attacked him.

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It was several days later that the boy was roused from his reading, a strange story he had received the year before about some brothers and their journey across a bridge, when he heard a knock on the door and his uncle yell for him to answer it. Putting the book down he exited his self-titled "Hobbit Hole" and went to open the door.

On the other side he found himself looking up at a rather pale man, with greased down hair and a rather large nose. What struck him the most about the man though were his beady black eyes that seemed almost dead, lacking any emotion or warmth, and his strange attire? Was this man wearing a dress? As he made eye contact again he couldn't help but think the man looked like the raven he saw yesterday, or was it a crow? No matter and now why was the man scowling at him?

"If your quite done comparing me to a woodland bird be kind enough to invite me in" said the sallow faced man in a bored drawl.

'OK that's weird; I don't think I said anything out loud?'

"Yes sir, please come in" he spoke quietly but clearly. As he turned and allowed the man to entire he couldn't help but think what a strange week he'd been having. He wondered what this rather dour man could want with his uncle, and still, why was he wearing a dress?

"YOU!" came the shrill cry from the resident horse woman. She did seem to be yelling an awful lot lately, with any luck maybe shed lose her voice for a while.

"Yes me, Hello Petunia," drawled the bird man behind him. Well, that answered a question or two at least. So he was here because he knows one of them, and it wasn't his uncle since the man was pointedly ignoring both Vernon and Dudley.

"Get out! He's not going! The world doesn't need any more freaks like you and Lily!" screamed his aunt.

"Unfortunately you don't get to make any decisions regarding the boy's future. He will be going to Hogwarts. Like his mother, like me, unlike you." Strangely the man seemed to be on his side, but he sure didn't sound happy about it.

"What's the big deal with this zoo anyway?" the boy said deciding now was as good a time as any to interject.

"What?" said the crow man?

"What?" yelled his uncle sounding angry?

"What?" what the boy said in clear confusion, eyes flicking between each of them?

"What?" said his aunt look at him like he was stupid?

OK, it seemed like everyone was confused at the moment

"What on earth are you blithering on about?" Snarled the man towards him

"Uh, I saw the animals on the letter and guessed it was a zoo?" spoke the boy, suddenly feeling like he'd said something stupid.

"Did you, perhaps for a moment, consider TURNING OVER the letter." said the man cloaked in black. He seemed to have a talent for making everything sound like an insult.

'Rather chipper fellow this one'

"You haven't a clue" said the man

Wait. He did it again. He was sure of it

"Yes, boy well done figuring it out." the crow man drawled

So he could hear his thought somehow, well that was terrifying.

"Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind." he wasn't sure why but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. The beak nosed man regarded him strangely for a second before commenting.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson, very interesting" the man seemed to almost mumble to himself. Looking like he was looking at a ghost. Unknown to them he was thinking back to a ghost of his own past. One he had tried not to think about for the last eleven years.

"So who are you any way" Quotes aside, the boy needed answers.

Before the man had a chance to answer any questions, his uncle was on his feet and clambering towards them. "Now Listen here!" whatever else he might have been about to say was silenced as the man pulled what looked like a short wooden stick and waved it twice, and he watched in amazement as his uncle and cousin fell to the floor, seemingly sleeping! It was all he could do to stare at the man while Petunia screamed and ran to her little Duddykins. Another wave of his stick and suddenly she was quite as well. Not unconscious, but all sound seem to stop.

"My name is Severus Snape, which you will only ever refer to me as Professor Snape, and I am the potions professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school which I regret to inform you you will be attending this year, as was your parents will."

"Wait, my parents had a will" he couldn't help but to ask, he had so many questions.

"I tell you you're going to a school for wizards, and you ask me about your parents will..." the man paused here to seemingly rub his eyes and curse an old goat apparently?

"Yes your parents, James and Lily Potter left a will stating you were to live here with the muggles, and then attend Hogwarts"

"Was that their names?" he asked hopefully.

"You didn't know" Professor Snape seemed rather angry at this question. But why would he care?

"No" the boy said quietly. At this point Snape seemed to have nothing to say just glared over towards Petunia, who seemed to have had a panic attack and passed out in her silence.

"What's a muggle?" he heard the scrawny child beside him ask

"Non magic person"

"That implies that there is magic."

"Stupid child did you not just see your rather corpulent uncle and cousin knocked unconscious across the room?"

"Fair point and I can learn that?" he wondered aloud.

Snape seemed ready to rip his own hair out at this point, if he could grip the greasy mess anyway. He reached into a seemingly hidden pocket, and pulled out an envelope much like the one he'd seen his caretaker's burn. "Read the blood letter and lets us be gone from here" The man seemed to resign himself to some great defeat while handing him the letter and walking outside. On the letter he saw the sigil he had seen before, and below it his name was printed in neat, large, scrawling script

To:

Harry Potter

From:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

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A.N.

Well that's the first chapter. Not a lot going yet but I promise it'll start to ramp up quickly, a lot more of the world and back history will be explained soon.

Please give any feedback you think might be helpful. Thanks for reading.

A.N. 2

Heavily edited and hopefully improved the quality as well as cleaned up some of the grammar. And added a prologue.